<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Roadside Motels (a The Little Things remix) by static_abyss</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26181781">Roadside Motels (a The Little Things remix)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss'>static_abyss</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Andrew Minyard Has Feelings, Canon Typical Content, Established Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Road Trips, Trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:55:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,108</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26181781</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Neil's well aware that this is the first time he and Andrew are away from the others. And the idea that there's no one but Andrew for miles sets a low heat in Neil's stomach. They're by themselves on the road and Neil isn't sure what to expect. But he figures he'll know by the end of the week whether this trip was a good idea.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>194</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Remix Revival 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Roadside Motels (a The Little Things remix)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementorsatemysoup/gifts">dementorsatemysoup</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25362193">The Little Things</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementorsatemysoup/pseuds/dementorsatemysoup">dementorsatemysoup</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>When I read <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25362193">The Little Things</a> by dementorsatemysoup I absolutely adored it and fell in love with the idea of Nile and Andrew on a roadtrip. You have a lovely way with words, dementorsatemysoup, and wonderful ideas. </p><p>I want to thank <a href="https://amateurbunburyist.tumblr.com/">Bee</a> for all their help in making this piece better. I am forever grateful for their input. Thank you also to everyone involved for hosting this fest. It has been loads of fun.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They're going seventy-five on a backroad off the I-74, just outside of Indiana. They have the windows of the Maserati rolled down, the rushing wind pressing Neil's hair flat against his head. He'd thrown his hat into the back seat when Andrew had complained about how slow they were going. </p><p>"And I'm the one with the death wish," Neil had said, even as he'd stepped on the gas.</p><p>It felt important to keep going once they'd started, once Andrew had agreed to take this trip with Neil.</p><p>"I want to see Chicago," he'd said, hoped that Andrew would want to come with him.</p><p>Neil thinks it's Riko's death that made Andrew say yes. That or the kidnapping. Maybe it's the scar on Neil's face that feels smooth to the touch, the way it serves as a reminder to both of them of what it'd cost Neil to get this new, clean slate. </p><p>"You think too loud," Andrew says now, cutting through the whooshing of the wind as it rushes past Neil's ears.</p><p>He can feel Andrew's stare on the side of his face, a heavy inexorable presence waiting for Neil's eyes like the inevitable ground at the end of a fall. He's well aware that this is the first time he and Andrew are away from the others. And the idea that there's no one but Andrew for miles sets a low heat in Neil's stomach. They're by themselves on the road and Neil isn't sure what to expect. But he figures he'll know by the end of the week whether this trip was a good idea.</p><p>"So," Andrew says, lazily. "Should I consider this a kidnapping?"</p><p>Neil taps his fingers against the steering wheel, the car motor purring beneath him. "Would you mind if it was?"</p><p>Andrew doesn't answer and when Neil chances a glance, Andrew has his head against the car window and he's supposedly fast asleep. Neil doesn't buy it for a second. But it gives him time to watch the road spread out before him, the white line dividing the asphalt rolling away underneath the car, the heat coming up in waves in the distance. To his left are wide rolling hills and green grass. To his right, there's Andrew, curled up on the passenger's side, his arms crossed over his chest as he dozes. What else there is besides that is of no importance. Andrew is it, in more ways than one. </p><p>"Are you asleep?" Neil asks.  </p><p>"Yes," Andrew says. </p><p>Neil can feel Andrew's gaze on him again but he doesn't take his eyes off the road in front of him. That they're alone in the car registers again, the silence between them bringing forth the fact that Nicky's not there. There's no fond scolding, no teasing, no brilliant persistent happiness. Exhausting most days but needed nonetheless. </p><p>"I was just wondering how I got you to leave them."</p><p>Neil doesn't have to say who. Andrew only needs one hand to count the number of people who matter to him. </p><p>"You didn't," he says, sounding bored. "Kevin's with Coach and Nicky's with Aaron."</p><p>The rolling hills give way to flat farmland as the car GPS signals their entrance into Indiana. There are faded, yellowish, rectangular mounds of hay in the distance, stacked around and on top of each other. Far off to Neil's right, he can just make out a herd of cattle, black and white cows mingling together and chewing on the green grass. </p><p>Neil can hear Andrew's quiet breathing and he thinks of their nights at the cabin, how hard and insistent Andrew's mouth always is. This thing between them is still so new, fragile and finite. It'd be so easy to ruin it.</p><p>He concentrates on the road, eyes out for their exit. There are too many thoughts in his head, what if's and maybe's. Neil needs to be on safer ground.</p><p>"I thought Nicky was with Erik in Germany," he says, ignoring the way his heart beats against his chest.</p><p>"In Palmetto," Andrew says. "With Aaron."</p><p>It's the heat, Neil thinks, even though the windows are down and the wind carries the rest of it away. It's that Andrew's never said what they are, though he's let Neil acknowledge that they're something. It's the open road and the vast expanse of asphalt and grass, that hot humid wet-dirt smell that promises brighter days. It's that, for the first time in his life, Neil feels free. So he pushes. Just a little. </p><p>"When Nicky moves to Germany who gets to keep the house? You? Or Aaron and Katelyn?"</p><p>"Nicky isn't moving to Germany," Andrew says, his voice carefully neutral. </p><p>This time Neil turns to look at him and finds Andrew turned towards him with his back to the car door, his sunglasses firmly in place. There's no way to tell what he's thinking but Neil feels the tension rolling off him in waves. He's overly aware of how they've skipped over Katelyn. </p><p>"How do you know Nicky isn't moving to Germany?" Neil asks, turning back to the road.</p><p>He hears Andrew shifting in his seat. "We're family," he says. </p><p>Neil knows he means that family is important to Nicky, that what Neil's mistaken for overexuberance and naive optimism is Nicky's way of showing that he cares for them. For Aaron and his surly moods. For Andrew and his carefully constructed walls. Nicky took them in when they had no one and found them a place to call home. To Andrew that binds more strongly than simple blood bonds. </p><p>"So," Neil says, now. "If Nicky's staying and he and Aaron get the house, what happens to you?"</p><p>"What makes you think I don't get to stay in the house with them?"</p><p>Neil shrugs, hands firmly on the steering wheel, the leather creaking beneath his palms. It's too soon to think about the future. The road is too empty and it's only Andrew and Neil in the car. </p><p>"I thought you hated Katelyn."</p><p>Andrew ignores him and Neil thinks of the promise Andrew made to Aaron, the one he changed because of Neil. </p><p>"Come on," Neil says, as he thinks of the coming night, of all the time in the world condensed into a single week. "You're going to have to acknowledge her at some point."</p><p>Andrew says nothing.</p><p>"She's staying," Neil presses. "There's no use denying it."</p><p>Still, Andrew says nothing. </p><p>"I'm staying."</p><p>The silence this time is heavy with meaning, with that tangible tension that Andrew always carries, a sort of undercurrent of disbelief. Never taking anyone at their word. A thing so deeply ingrained in Neil, too, that he's still surprised he let so many people in. That he let Andrew in this far, to the point that they're heading for a motel off the I-74, just inside Indiana.</p><p>Andrew's quiet for a moment longer and Neil lets the wind carry away the nervous energy in his body. He isn't leaving. It's about time they acknowledge that. </p><p>"You're what?" Andrew asks, finally. </p><p>Neil almost smiles. "Don't ask stupid questions," he says.</p><p>"Don't make promises you can't keep," Andrew answers. </p><p>-</p><p>Their first motel is a red brick, L-shaped, two-story building with burgundy doors and a gray frame. Neil parks the car in the parking lot and Andrew heads into the reception to book their room. By the time he comes back out, a single key dangling from his finger, Neil's already unloaded their bags from the car. They head up the rickety metal staircase to Room 212 by silent mutual accord. </p><p>The door to their motel room looks old and has peeling paint in the bottom right corner. But Andrew sticks the key in the lock and shoves his way inside, careless of the creaking hinges or Neil and his bag. The carpet is that generic blend of grays characteristic to all the motels they've stayed in with the Foxes. Neil steps inside and sees Andrew already lounging on the bed furthest from the door. He's got his hands behind his head, feet crossed at the ankles, his dirty boots rumpling the sheets. </p><p>"I'm not sleeping on that bed," Neil says, staring pointedly at Andrew's footprint on the covers. </p><p>Andrew turns a bored look his way, that empty casualness that Neil's coming to understand means Andrew's hiding deeper feelings. </p><p>"Who said anything about sleeping?" Andrew asks.</p><p>Neil feels his stare like a brand down his back, determined, but not demanding. There's always an out to any situation involving Andrew, even though Neil never wants it. He sees it there now, a question in Andrew's eyes and that tilt to his head as he regards Neil. </p><p>"Yes," Neil says. </p><p>Andrew's lips twitch. "I haven't asked a question," he says. </p><p>"Doesn't matter," Neil says, dropping his bag and heading straight for Andrew. "It's yes anyway."</p><p>He stops at the side of the bed, waits for Andrew to turn to him, to slide over enough to give Neil room. Andrew waits for Neil to climb in and then he's pressing Neil into the sheets, his hand hot on Neil's wrist, his mouth, hard and slow. Neil lays back and lets Andrew's knees on either side of his hips keep him still. </p><p>He buries one hand in Andrew's hair and waits for the press of Andrew's lips. When it comes, Neil lies back and gets lost in the easy, practiced way Andrew has of kissing, something confident and sure. His cheeks and nose brush against Neil's, every bit of him so close, Neil swears he can feel the phantom press of Andrew's body on his. </p><p>The kisses don't last long, only enough that Neil's gasping for breath when Andrew pulls away. Enough that he can feel Andrew's absence like a splash of cold water as Andrew heads for the bathroom. </p><p>Neil lays on the rough motel sheets and waits until he can't feel the ghost of Andrew's mouth on his. Then, he turns on his side and tries to go to sleep.</p><p>*</p><p>They go to the Old Rotary Jail Museum off exit 34 on the I-74 in Crawfordsville. It's a large two-and-a-half story, red, brick and limestone house with thin white-bordered windows and a set of cement steps. It sits perpendicular to the residential streets, a neat little patch of grass on either side of the steps. There's a blue sign with gold letters to the right of the steps explaining where they are and what the building is.</p><p>Neil parks the Maserati and Andrew takes his time getting out, lets himself focus on the yellow grass instead of the gray roof. He ignores Neil's inquiring glance and pulls his sunglasses down over his face. He tells himself that just because the building is in the same style as the clinic doesn't make it the same. </p><p>Andrew focuses on Neil instead, on his obvious excitement over the museum. There's a group of people making their way out of the front and when the tour guide sees them, he smiles wide.</p><p>"Hello, there, boys," he says. "Looking for a tour?"</p><p>Andrew keeps staring at Neil, at the clean t-shirt that Andrew had twisted his fingers into this morning. There's no obvious sign that Andrew had his mouth on Neil a few hours ago. No trace of what they might be. Nothing but the distance between them. No sign to give them away to the tour guide, to the loud group of tourists on their way. Andrew can still keep secret the way he can't seem to get enough of Neil beneath his hands, the broken off gasps when he comes in Andrew's hand or his mouth. </p><p>The tour guide beams at them. "It's pay what you can," he tells them.</p><p>"What do you say?" Neil asks, turning in the sunlight.</p><p>Andrew shrugs and Neil takes it for the agreement that it is. They go on the tour and Andrew climbs the stone steps and thinks of that first house in California, with the neat little garden and the rolling acres of farmland. He remembers those stone steps and the pounding of fists on the kitchen table. </p><p>They make their way through the front door and Andrew focuses back on Neil and the tour guide. He listens to the explanations about the rotating cells, the foundations, the fact that they're in the last functioning rotary jail. Eventually, the tour guide's voice fades into the background, a comforting buzzing as Andrew takes in the old metal doors, the benches, the bars. </p><p>Neil walks by his side, between Andrew and the tour guide, far away enough that there's no danger of anyone touching Andrew. He tries not to think about how easily Neil can read him, how much he knows because Andrew keeps giving himself away. How fucking observant Neil Josten turned out to be and how careless Andrew is, at the end of the day. </p><p>They know each other. That's what makes it marginally okay, that it's not just Andrew giving pieces of himself away. That he has a weapon should Neil ever want to hurt him. Even so, there's a level of trust between them, grudging though it may be. Andrew wouldn't let Neil touch him otherwise. </p><p>He tunes back into the conversation, hears the tour guide ask if they want to turn the crank on the jail cells. Neil says yes and Andrew watches him, that excitement in his eyes at trying something new. A little bit of wonder that he can still feel good about these things. Andrew understands him, wishes he didn't.</p><p>He feels his phone buzzing in his pocket and knows it'll be Nicky. He said he'd check in everyday, "to make sure you and Neil haven't eaten each other." Then he'd paused, tossed a quick glance at Aaron and said, "unless you're into that," so fast Andrew only had time to start forward before Nicky was in his room.</p><p>He hadn't spoken to Nicky for the rest of the day but Nicky's so used to it, he hadn't noticed. The same way he doesn't notice the rest of it, all of Andrew's weak spots, times when he's not fast enough to keep his mask in place. It makes it easier to keep himself safe with Nicky, because Nicky doesn't pay attention and has stupid foolish ideas about family. </p><p>Andrew can push him away over and over and Nicky will stand by his side because, "that's what family does, Andrew." Annoying, persistent Nicky who gave Andrew his first home. Nicky, who's slowly been persuading Erik to come to the States, who believed his parents when they told him they loved him and so had cared when it turned out they didn't. Nicky who, despite that, is able to give love freely because he'd never had a chance to miss it growing up. </p><p>God, how Andrew wishes he hated Nicky. </p><p>Neil is different, Andrew thinks as he watches the slowly turning wedged cells, that creaking of metal against metal. The loud jarring sounds make Andrew's heart start its rapid beating, that impossible-to-control reaction. He hates being so fucking predictable, how boring to react in the same way to the same stressor.</p><p>"You're only human," Bee had said once. </p><p>Human enough to forget himself in front of a stupidly attractive face, apparently. Human enough to still want, despite how much it used to make him want to throw up. Andrew hated Neil for that, for the way interest had pooled low in Andrew's stomach when he'd seen him. Hated him even more when he'd realized how alike he and Neil were. </p><p>He'd seen glimpses of himself in Neil, in that quick dash to madness atop Fox Tower that Andrew had wanted to stop. That fear that had threatened to consume Neil when he'd found out that he wasn't alone, that there were people out there who could love him, call him family. When Neil had finally realized that the way he'd been living was unsustainable. That there were better ways. That he could have, for the first time, a good life. </p><p>Andrew hadn't been able to have that until recently. He had glimpses of it, now, whenever Aaron joined him and Bee, when Nicky said he thought Germany was overrated. When Neil waited, palms flat on the bed, not asking for more than Andrew could give, always so goddamn respectful of boundaries. It messed with Andrew's head, made it easier to forget that he couldn't trust anyone, that even the people who were supposed to love him would hurt him. </p><p>But he turns to Neil now and it hits him again, the way it keeps hitting him whenever Neil's too distracted to notice Andrew watching. That overwhelming desire to keep safe all the people he gives a fuck about, how that includes Neil. How even if it didn't, Andrew had sworn to himself that he'd never let anyone feel all the garbage he'd felt, all that emptiness and pain. He swore it wouldn't happen to anyone else as long as he could stop it. Never.</p><p>"What is it?" Neil asks. </p><p>"Bored," Andrew says. </p><p>Short enough to make sure nothing gets out in his tone of voice. Unaffected. Indifferent. Always keeping people at bay because it's easier to keep them safe if he's not protecting himself from them. Easier to be the rock everyone needs if they think he feels nothing. No need to embarrass himself by admitting he has feelings. </p><p>"We should go," Neil says. </p><p>Andrew turns to tell him he doesn't care. They could stay in this jail for as long as Neil wanted. It's not like there aren't things outside that spark the same thoughts. But Neil's already talking to the tour guide, already walking to the exit. Once they're outside, Neil tosses Andrew the car keys without a word, slides into the passenger's side, and stares out the window. He says nothing the whole time they're driving down the I-74, heading for another roadside motel. </p><p>Like he knows what Andrew needs. </p><p>The thought sparks terror deep in Andrew's bones and he smothers the urge to escape with a cold fury. He's more than done running, done letting his past dictate how he lives his life. He'd promised Bee, promised himself. No one gets to mess with the choices he's made, with all the work he's put in. </p><p>He rolls down all the windows in the car, lets the rushing wind carry away any sounds Neil might make, any careful questions, any attempts at seeing if Andrew's okay. He never is. But he's made peace with himself about that, accepted that he will never believe soothing words and embraces. That anything softer than the way he pushes Neil into all kinds of surfaces makes him want to punch something. </p><p>He can't be soft. </p><p>But as he keeps driving and as Neil stays silent, it occurs to Andrew that maybe that's why he and Neil fit so well together. Because they're both always going to fight for every scrap of happiness and contentment. For this thing that's happening between them. Unnamed for Andrew's sake. To keep his terror at bay. </p><p>He hates it, hates Neil a little more for being the only person who's ever made Andrew reassess the walls he's built around himself. How he can imagine a future where he might let Neil in where it matters most. </p><p>"This roadtrip is stupid," Andrew says. </p><p>"This isn't a roadtrip," Neil says.</p><p>Andrew stares pointedly out the car windshield, at the passing trees and the double-laned highway. The car GPS warns them of their coming exit and Andrew lets the silence stretch. </p><p>"I have a question," Neil says.</p><p>"Don't you always," Andrew answers, already knowing what it'll be. </p><p>"What did the jail remind you of?"</p><p>His lack of self-preservation is amazing, Andrew thinks as he stares at the road. There's no one for miles, no witnesses. Maybe that's why Andrew answers, because he looks at Neil and sees no danger. A stupid thing to think, but Andrew's the one driving the car and he can take Neil in a fight. </p><p>"There was a house in California," he says. "It was beautiful, had the same stone steps."</p><p>Neil is quiet a moment and Andrew knows he doesn't need to say anymore. Neil always remembers the important things. </p><p>-</p><p>They make it to the Quality Inn just before sunset. It's a long two-story building with a triangular roof at the front entrance and flat everywhere else. Andrew looks at it as they park in the back, the lot empty except for two other cars on the far end. He can see the thin pillars of the entrance, the sliding automatic doors. </p><p>Neil gets out first and Andrew slides his fingers down the bands on his arm until he can feel the warm metal of his knives against his skin. He stays in the car until Neil comes back, watches him as Neil leans down to eye level with the driver's side window. </p><p>"We can go in through the side," Neil says. </p><p>He tosses Andrew a little cardboard booklet with their room number and wifi password written in the front. The key card is in a sleeve on the inside when Andrew opens it. He stares at the small photo of the inn on the front, at the small golden block letters. They're on the second floor and Andrew can just see the side entrance at the end of the long building. </p><p>"I'll see you upstairs," Neil says.</p><p>Andrew watches him go, his Exy duffle slung over his shoulder. The bright orange stands out everywhere they go but it hasn't occurred to Neil to change it. Not since he'd stupidly tied his life to the Moriyamas. He thinks he's safe and Andrew can't tell if he's angrier at Neil for being that naive or at himself for how much he wishes it were true. </p><p>He stays in the silent car long enough for the sun to set behind the inn and then decides he's done sulking. He's on his way out of the car when his phone buzzes with an incoming text from Nicky. It's a picture of Aaron sitting by a large clean pool, part of Nicky's face caught on the upper right side of the photo. The accompanying text reads, "at Allison's." </p><p>Andrew stares at Aaron's laughing face and the mirth on Nicky's and thinks of the coming summers and all the years before them.</p><p><em>Let them go before you lose them</em>, says that traitorous voice in his head. It sounds a lot like Neil recently, logical, infuriatingly correct. </p><p>He sighs heavily and leaves the car, lets his hand travel down the shiny side. So he likes cars that look expensive, likes to know he's driving something flashy and his. Likes to know there are pieces of himself that are untainted by memories. His love of cars is his alone and fuck anyone who has an issue with it. </p><p>He heads towards the side entrance of the inn, swipes his keycard and makes his way into the long hallway with its polished wooden floors. He thinks of the Raven's stadium, the smooth sides and the polished walls. He thinks of Riko's racket coming for Neil's head, of Aaron and Nicky getting shoved over and over, the bruises down their sides after the game. </p><p>He's let them all go and somehow, they're all still there waiting for Andrew. It's baffling and scary, worse when he thinks of Neil and how nothing ties them together anymore, no secrets, no needed protection. Yet, Neil's still here on this roadtrip to Chicago that Andrew said yes to just because it was something Neil wanted. </p><p>There Neil is, Andrew thinks, as he comes up to Room 222 and opens the door. He's on the bed furthest from the door, watching something on his laptop. He looks up when Andrew steps through the door and the look in his eyes, care and compassion and worry, makes Andrew want to break something. They're nothing to each other and there Neil is, watching Andrew like his heart is breaking. </p><p>"Shut up," Andrew says.</p><p>Neil opens his mouth to say something but Andrew slams the door closed and crosses the room in three strides. He pushes Neil down onto the bed and kisses him until all the words are lost in between their mouths. Until Andrew can feel the heat of Neil's lips down the side of his neck, Neil's hands in his hair. He focuses on working Neil's pants open, on shoving Neil's shirt over his head.</p><p>He wants him naked, wants him so lost beneath Andrew's hands he has no time to ask questions. Andrew wants to get lost in the feel of Neil under his lips, that warm slide of skin under Andrew's hands. Wants him so much it burns through Andrew and leaves him breathless. He should hate Neil. But as Andrew maps out the shape of Neil's body with hands and lips and teeth, he can't help the way that voice creeps back into his head. </p><p>He can feel his thoughts betraying him, the way the idea worms its way to the forefront. There's nothing that ties Neil to him. He isn't family like Nicky and Aaron, isn't even annoyingly lonely and pathetic like Kevin. Neil stands on his own. He doesn’t need Andrew but he wants him anyway, wants the way Andrew takes him into his mouth, the way he brings him off. </p><p>Neil is here for no real reason other than whatever this is between them. And there at last is the real reason for Andrew's terror. Because he's coming to realize that he wants it too, all of it, whatever Neil wants to give him. </p><p>*</p><p>Neil can still feel Andrew's mouth on him as they walk through Brum Woods, the tall red maple trees towering up ahead as the warm summer air washes over Neil. He can see Andrew in front of him on the wooden bridge that passes over the small flowing creek. He's standing just at the edge of the shade from the trees, all in black and with long-sleeves. Neil watches the sweat pooling at Andrew's temples, the way he's so obviously uncomfortable in the rising heat. </p><p>Neil moves forward, tries not to think of the way Andrew had gone quiet yesterday in the jail museum. He should have known that bars and the idea of a jail, of being trapped, would be uncomfortable for Andrew. But Neil hadn't been thinking past the open road and the excitement at seeing something new with Andrew. </p><p>He regrets not thinking it through and making things difficult for Andrew. But he knows better than to bring it up now. He's been forgiven, Neil knows, had felt it in the way Andrew had kissed him last night, slow, exploratory. He'd brought Neil to the edge over and over with his mouth and his kisses and Neil had laid back and taken it all. Whatever Andrew wanted to give him. </p><p>"Coming?" Andrew asks now, pulling Neil from his thoughts.</p><p>That he asked is odd enough that Neil pays attention, notices the way Andrew's eyes keep straying to the trees, to the birds chirping out of sight. He keeps to the trail, every once in a while brushing his hand along the stems of the plants growing along the trail. Neil walks a little behind him, follows Andrew without hesitation when he takes a left at the first fork. Neil had seen him look at the trail map at the entrance to the park, trusts Andrew not to get them lost. </p><p>"So," Neil says after the second time Andrew's stopped to look at a group of plants. "Do you like hiking or just these woods?"</p><p>Andrew blinks at him, considers the question. "I like nature," he says. "Nothing bad's ever happened in the woods."</p><p>Neil thinks of wild animals and dead bodies, the smell of burning wood. His mother had told him once, when he was young and afraid, that people died in the woods. She'd said that animals would tear their bodies apart and what was left would rot until there was nothing left. </p><p>"If you get lost in the woods, you die in the woods," she'd said. </p><p>But Neil looks out at Andrew and sees the way the sun catches on his hair, how he turns back to Neil, a question in his eyes. </p><p>"I never liked the woods before," Neil tells him. </p><p>Andrew stares at him. "Exit's this way," he says, moving past Neil. </p><p>"Wait," Neil says, stopping himself from grabbing Andrew's arm just in time. </p><p>Andrew stills, but the tension is different this time, something less heavy though just as important. Neil looks down at the dirt, at the well-worn path, imagines how many people have come through. </p><p>"I like these woods," he says at last.</p><p>He means that he likes the way Andrew's a little less tense, how he breathes in slower as they pass next to the creek, how Neil can also smell the wet dirt. He means that new memories are just as important as keeping the old ones, that he wants to share this with Andrew. That he'd walk through hundreds of woods if it meant Andrew could keep that contented crease around his eyes. </p><p>"We should go," Andrew says. </p><p>Neil steps in front of him, hands behind his back. "Stay," he says. "I want to."</p><p>Andrew watches him carefully and Neil does his best to show that he means it. </p><p>"We left yesterday," Andrew says, carefully.</p><p>"This isn't like that," Neil says, his eyes roaming over Andrew's face. "My mom used to say people who got lost in the woods, died in the woods."</p><p>"We're not lost," Andrew tells him, slowly. </p><p>"No," Neil says. "We're not."</p><p>-</p><p>They don't get lost in the wood but by the time they get back to the car it's already dark. They have to hop the little wooden fence in the front and when Neil has one leg over, Andrew taps him on his thigh. Neil raises an eyebrow and Andrew motions to his other leg so Neil throws it over the fence. He's sitting on it, looking down at Andrew.</p><p>Andrew takes Neil's left hand and places it on his right shoulder, presses hard on Neil's wrist. "Here and up," he says. </p><p>Neil nods, lets his hand slide over onto Andrew's other shoulder as Andrew moves forward. He keeps his other hand on the wooden fence, his fingers gripping the dry wood until his knuckles go white. He inhales carefully as Andrew leans forward to kiss him. Their position puts Neil just above Andrew so that when they're kissing, it almost feels like Neil's leading. </p><p>Andrew doesn't say anything as they kiss, but Neil feels it in the teeth that bite at his lower lip, something like gratitude.</p><p>*</p><p>Chicago is messy and noisy, with people crawling all over the streets. They walk in single file lines, a choreographed dance that everyone knows intuitively. Andrew watches them carefully, tries to predict their movements so that he's always just out of the way. He knows Neil notices and he doesn't say anything as Neil edges in between Andrew and the crowd. Normally, Andrew hates the way Neil reads him so easily but the memory of Brum Woods is fresh in his mind and for now, Andrew can let it go.</p><p>"They have an Exy stadium here," Neil says as he works his way around the mass of people.</p><p>Andrew doesn't ask where Neil learned to move in a city. He's heard all about Neil being on the run with his mother. He knows it's easier to get lost in cities where no one looks at anyone twice, where a face is a face is a face. </p><p>"Why didn't you pick a city to stay in after your mother died?" Andrew asks.</p><p>He's caught Neil by surprise, but he's quick to recover, faster than Nicky or Aaron will ever be. </p><p>"My mom didn't like the noise," Neil says.</p><p>They're quiet for a moment as they reach the edge of Navy Pier, the green-blue water stretching out into the distance. The wind blows and Andrew watches the way Neil's hair falls over his forehead, the way his eyes latch onto the boats in the distance. He's blue-eyed and free, surrounded by the bustling city, close enough that Andrew could reach out and touch him. Close enough that Andrew forgets the crowds for a moment.</p><p>He finds that he wants Neil to look at him, to have his undivided attention. </p><p>"What's Chicago's Exy team called?" Andrew asks, and that does it because Neil turns to him, eyes wide.</p><p>"You want to talk about Exy?"</p><p>Andrew moves forward so that he's standing side by side with Neil. He looks out at where the sky meets with the water. </p><p>He shrugs. "It's something to pass the time."</p><p>Neil doesn't need more encouragement. He starts rattling off player names and their statistics, what team they played with in the NCAA. Andrew listens, lets Neil's words wash over him. He thinks of Neil on the Exy court back in Palmetto, how at home he is at the stadium. He imagines Neil going pro, takes only a second to imagine himself playing on the same team, taking planes instead of buses, and has to stop. </p><p>It's too much dreaming in too short a time, too much for Andrew to want. He doesn't know how to handle the panic that settles in his chest, feels anger coming to take over, familiar, steadying. He fucking hates Chicago.</p><p>"Lets go," he says. </p><p>Neil turns at once, tries to walk between Andrew and the rest of the people. But Andrew's too angry to let him, mad at himself for the panic, for wanting something that's so far in the future it's laughable to think of it now. He's furious that the reason he's so scared is because he's let himself think of Neil in his life years from now, as though he's entitled to Neil's presence in his life. As though Neil owes him anything. </p><p>He's still angry when they get back to the hotel room and the way Neil keeps looking at him is grating on Andrew's nerves. He doesn't want the pity. He doesn't want the careful understanding. What he wants is something tangible, something that feels as real as Neil looking him in the eyes and saying, "this is not nothing."</p><p>So Andrew pushes him down on the bed furthest from the door, the one they always choose in every motel they stay at. The way Neil goes pliant and easy under him hits Andrew right in the center of his chest and makes it just a little harder to breathe. He wishes he knew what he wanted, why Neil makes Andrew want to run, to save himself from that trust, from that warmth. He can't be what hurts Neil. He won't let himself be. </p><p>"Andrew," Neil starts. </p><p>But Andrew shakes his head, says, "yes or no?"</p><p>Neil's hands in his hair take him by surprise because Neil never moves first, not even when Andrew wants him to. Neil notices the tension in Andrew's body, drops his hands, and stays perfectly still. </p><p>"Sor—" he starts, stops, then says, "I shouldn't have done that."</p><p>Andrew looks at him, wants to figure out how it's possible that someone like Neil exists, how he got lucky enough to meet him. Stupid, irrational thoughts that make Andrew want to hurt someone. But the only people he wants to hurt are those he can't reach, the ones who he's worked so hard to put in the past. To hate them is to give them power over him and he'd promised Bee, never again. </p><p>"I didn't say no," Andrew says because perhaps he's testing the waters, because part of him will always be on alert, will always expect one of them to fuck up. </p><p>"You didn't say yes," Neil answers, right on cue, always exactly what Andrew needs to hear. </p><p>Andrew looks at Neil, spread out underneath him, the way he's watching Andrew with that soft expression in his blue eyes. Andrew wants to tell him to stop, to push his face away, to exist somewhere without Neil slamming his way past Andrew's walls. He's tired of the longing on Neil's face, of the fondness. So he moves forward on the bed, feels Neil's legs spread wider to give him room. </p><p>"Yes," Andrew says.</p><p>Then, he presses his face into Neil's neck, imagines Neil's legs around his thighs, how Andrew would move forward, press into him. He shudders when Neil's fingers twine in his hair and he lets Neil pull him up for a kiss. Hard, demanding, lighting Andrew up from the inside. He inches forward on the bed and says, "one hand on my upper back only."</p><p>Neil throws his right arm around Andrew's back, following the groove underneath his shoulder blade, his hand just resting where Andrew's neck meets his shoulder. Andrew imagines one day letting Neil touch his bare skin. Wants to want it so bad it catches him off guard. Makes it so that a small gasp leaves his mouth as he hears Neil saying his name in between his incoherent mumbling. </p><p>Andrew reaches between them, gets his hand into Neil's pants, brings him off hard and fast. He can hear the broken off gasps as Neil unravels in Andrew's hands. He's hot everywhere Andrew's touching him, his arm like a brand as he pulls Andrew closer. He allows it for a moment, just enough that he can feel Neil hard against his thigh. Only a moment before Andrew pulls back again, lets the space register as his shoulders relax. Neil feels it, knows from the way Andrew's breathing that he can lean forward and press his mouth to the side of Andrew's neck. </p><p>Andrew shudders, allows himself to feel how much he likes it, how much he wants Neil kissing him. Then he moves back, looks at Neil, red-faced and panting beneath him. </p><p>"This means—" Andrew starts. </p><p>"I get," Neil says, his fingers digging into Andrew's shoulder. "This is nothing."</p><p>He's practically shivering underneath Andrew and it suddenly seems important to Andrew that Neil knows that this, whatever it is, whether it works out or not, can't be nothing. Not when Andrew can feel the way his chest hurts from watching Neil fall apart, from remembering him in sunlight, the way he'd looked when Andrew had kissed him in Brum Woods. This, no matter how much it scares Andrew, means something to both of them. It has to. That's the only way to make it fair. </p><p>"This isn't nothing," he says, twists his hand in the way Neil likes, watches him unravel.</p><p><em>This is something,</em> he thinks as he looks at Neil. As they kiss and Andrew feels that desperation from Neil, a reach for something Andrew can't give him now. That there's something between them is all Andrew can offer, might be all he can ever give. </p><p>"I have to go," he says, not looking at Neil, not wanting to see the hints of emotions too complex to name. </p><p>He takes his time in the bathroom, brings himself off to the feel of Neil's fingers on his back, the imaginary press of limbs against Andrew's. He thinks of Neil's mouth and his kisses, of the excitement in his eyes as he walked through the Old Rotary Jail Museum in Crawfordsville. </p><p>It's something, has to be, because Andrew can feel it in every one of his bones. Something overwhelming and dangerous but worth it in the end. Worth it just to have Neil waiting for him on the other side of the door. No matter how much it terrifies him. </p><p>A man can only have so many problems, after all. </p><p>-</p><p>When Andrew comes out of the bathroom, Neil's on the other bed closest to the door, the one they never sleep on. Andrew hesitates only a moment, long enough for Neil to see. And it amuses Andrew that Neil's suddenly so observant when it comes to him, when he never was before. How he'd missed the way Andrew had watched him, wanted him, is a mystery with the easy way Neil reads him now. </p><p>Andrew keeps going, throws his toothbrush on the empty bed and heads straight for Neil. He stands by the side of the bed watching Neil, waiting for the panic that doesn't come. He assumes he's either worked it out in the shower or is too tired, finally, to feel anything. In any case, it takes Neil a second but then he scoots over as close to the other side of the bed as he can. He leaves more than enough space for Andrew to arrange himself into a comfortable position over the sheets. </p><p>"Are you—" Neil starts. </p><p>"Just stay on your side," Andrew tells him, too worn out for a conversation, shivering as the air conditioning blows against his back. </p><p>Neil nods and leans down over on his side of the bed to pick up the hoodie Andrew tossed on the floor that morning. He throws it over to Andrew without a word and Andrew catches it on reflex. He looks at the hoodie, back at the extra sheets on the empty bed. Andrew can't be bothered to move right then, so he just pulls the zipper on the hoodie open all the way and throws it over himself. He curls up underneath it and does his best to go to sleep.</p><p>*</p><p>They head back to Palmetto State the next morning, Andrew in the driver's seat, his sunglasses tossed into the cup holder. Neil leans against the window, watching the rolling fields, letting his eyes stray to Andrew and away. Bold looks that feel like enough, catching Andrew's gaze every once in a while, accepting Andrew's eye rolls because Neil can see the hints of a smile at the corner of Andrew's mouth.</p><p>
  <em>This is not nothing.</em>
</p><p>The words hang between them, open, honest things. Something for Neil to have and keep safe, to make sure no one can use the words to hurt Andrew. </p><p>Last night it had been important that Neil not say anything back, that he pretend it didn't happen, that he give Andrew space and time. But that morning, Neil had kissed him, hard and fast, had pressed into Andrew's mouth all the words Andrew isn't ready to hear. Things Neil never thought he'd be able to say. </p><p><em>I'm here too and I'm staying</em>, he means. And when Andrew meets his eyes the next time, Neil knows he understands.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>